


In The Dark

by Primarybufferpanel (ArwenLune)



Series: Mad Max Snippets [7]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), Mad Max: Fury Road
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Podfic Welcome, Sensory Deprivation, She is safe now but she doesn't know that yet, Whump, bad shit has happened to Furiosa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 19:17:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4191795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArwenLune/pseuds/Primarybufferpanel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn't find her until the raiders were all dead. </p><p>That was somewhat unfortunate, because after one look at her, he would like to kill them all again, except slower and more thoroughly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt: 'Max has found Furiosa in a dungeon or on a market somewhere far away from the Citadel. She's been badly mistreated, isn't speaking, and a lot more willing to bite and headbutt him than to let him treat the wounds that very much need treating.'
> 
> WARNING: Bad shit has happened to Furiosa. This is the aftermath once Max finds her, so she’s safe now, but she doesn’t know that yet. I'm very vague about what exactly happened to her, there are hints and implications at most, but if you're worried about triggers, proceed with caution.

He didn't find her until the raiders were all dead.

That was somewhat unfortunate, because after one look at her, he would like to kill them all again, except slower and more thoroughly.

She had a leather hood over her head, closed with a tight metal collar around her neck and only two small breathing holes near her nose. Her arms were caught behind her back in a long leather arm binder from shoulders to her single wrist. It was attached to the belt around her waist. Her clothes were torn and bloody, and she had an ugly wound on her ribs.

She didn't respond when he spoke to her, said her name. Nothing at all. It wasn't not until he reached out, cupped a gentle hand around the cap of her shoulder, that she flinched. The moment was violent enough that she smashed her head against the wall she was sat against, made a strangled sound, and then froze completely.

This place was going to go up in flames in minutes and he needed to get her out now. Everything gentle and careful he had for her would have to wait until he'd first ensured that they both survive this.

He grimaced and cupped a hand around her hooded head to ensure there was no repeat of the head bashing. Then he hooked a hand under her arm and hauled her up, hoping she could walk.

She couldn't quite, but she got her feet under her and tried to support some of her weight, probably more because his grip hurt her shoulder than out of any desire to cooperate. He half carried, half dragged her to his car and carefully tucked her into the passenger seat with a murmured apology for leaving her tied up.

The low, booming explosion behind them as the Interceptor roared away was the first sound she visibly reacted to. She ducked further forward, folding herself almost double, like she knew a blow was coming but couldn't figure out from which direction.

 

When he could stop in the shelter of a rock outcropping he took the time to look at her, examine the hood from where he was. It was purpose-made, with thick padding over the ears and eyes and buckles in the back to tighten it. It had a closed zipper over the mouth, which was red with dried blood. He hoped it was from whoever she'd bitten, not from her lips.

The little holes under the nose looked strange and worn, and he grimaced when he realised the wear pattern looked like fingertips, they'd been pinched shut to control the captive's air supply.

She seemed aware that she was being looked at, slowly edging further away, pressing herself against the passenger door.

Max tried to prioritise. The hood needed to come off, but he didn't have boltcutters or a metal file. The leather could be cut, away so they could deal with he collar later, but he wasn't about to wield a sharp knife around her face until she understood he was trying to help her. That path was closed for the moment.

Her arms needed to be free, but would that help her understand he was trying to help or would it just make treating her wound that much harder?

Because the wound needed treatment urgently. Priority one, he decided.

To be able to treat it he'd need to be able to touch her without causing utter panic. The mouth zipper was a start. Make sure she wasn't worried about air, give her water.

He got out of the car and went over to the passenger side. She dove as soon as it opened, and he reflexively caught her by the shoulder, for a second a cop putting a detainee back where he needed them to be.

Furiosa utterly froze when he pressed her back against the seat, breath nothing but a fast, flat panting, her whole body shaking with the tension of expecting unknown harshness.

Max hummed and lightly touched the leather of the chin part of the hood, trying to let her feel what was coming. Then he took the tab of the zipper and, pulling it away from her skin, tugged it open.

Her lips were chapped and stained with dried blood, but he was relieved to see they weren't torn up by the zipper as he'd feared.

She held them firmly pressed together, teeth clenched, and he tried not to think about why. Took out his canteen and lightly held it against her lips until she felt the water and drank.

"Okay, good," he murmured. "Better."

A start, at least.

He shut the door and went to get the med kit out of the boot. When he got back to her, she was halfway across to the drivers seat. He didn't think she had a plan, with her hands bound behind her and unable to see or hear. It looked like mindless flight instinct, and he sighed when he opened the passenger door.

"Come on, I need to treat that wound," he murmured. It was strange how he'd never felt such an urge to speak as he did now.

He blew a breath against the skin of her shoulder before he put his hand there, trying to give her some warning. She flinched, and he carefully drew her back into the seat, then cupped a hand around her head and guided her out of the car.

He legs couldn't carry her, but that didn't stop her from fighting with the strength of desperation. Max grunted as she headbutted him in the stomach and swung his leg over her, getting her onto her stomach and pinning her with a hand in her neck. Her cheek was pressed against the hard ground, and he double checked that the openings in the hood were free and not in the sand.

She made a wheezy keening sound that he never hoped to ever hear again, and fought against his hold, hissing and spitting though gritted teeth. Max contained her as gently as possible, knowing she wasn't lucid. The Furiosa he knew would have saved her strength in such an obviously inescapable position.

Eventually she stopped, her limbs going slack. He didn't know if she'd passed out, but she was a heavy, limp weight when he moved her.

He put her on her side with her face pillowed on the inside of his knee, so he could hook his foot between her back and her bound arms, effectively keeping her when he needed her. His other leg went over her legs, containing her in case she tried kicking again.

Then he started on the wound.

It was an ugly, ragged tear, crusted with sand and already beginning to swell a puffy red. He leant in close to sniff, but at least it didn't smell bad yet. That was something.

Max poured water and slowly, carefully washed out the sand and the mess. It started bleeding sluggishly again and he let it, hoping the last of the crud would bleed out. It was too late to stitch it, though he could hope wrapping it up well would help things heal into place without infecting.

She had started trembling while he worked on the wound, her breathing ragged with pain. He had the fortunate foresight to tighten his legs around hers and put a heavy hand on her cheek before he put the desinfecting powder onto the wound, because she jackknifed up with a raw, hoarse scream, and he struggled to keep her contained.

"Sorry, sorry," he mumbled, pressing her cheek down against his leg. "I'm trying to help you, I am."

He wrapped up the wound with the last of his clean gauze, then moved her to a sit so he could wrap a strip of cloth around her ribs to keep everything in place.

She was quiet, exhausted, trembling with tension under his touch but no longer resisting. He wasn't sure if she understood he was trying to help her or if she was biding her time, but either way he couldn't justify keeping her tied up any longer.

"I'm going to untie your arms," he told her, and the words might not help her – he was sure by now she couldn't hear him at all – but they were helping him. He undid the tie that was keeping the armbinder to her belt, and then undid the buckles until he could put a hand on her shoulder and tug the leather sleeve off her arms.

She didn't move her arms, but she whimpered, and yeah, after so long tied behind her back her shoulders had to be in agony.

He moved his hand up her neck to the back of her head, undid the buckles there to loosen that damn hood. Wasn't sure if that made it more comfortable or not, since all it did was put the inescapable thing looser around her head, but he hoped it would at least show his intentions.

He fed her more water, then got up to spread a ragged blanket over the back rest of the passenger seat, and then returned to where she was still slumped on the ground, unmoving, like even contemplating motion was too much.

He blew a breath at her shoulder, and she twitched a little, but seemed to accept – or at least expect – the hand that followed. He made an upward motion on her skin, and cupped his hands under her elbows. She seemed to understand, because she tried to get her legs under her, then overbalanced and tipped forward into his chest.

She made a low noise of distress, and he cradled her against his chest. This was _Furiosa_ , and the urge to offer her comfort overrode, for a moment, the knowledge that she did not know it was him.

At least she didn't try to headbutt him again. He took that as a positive.

When he'd carefully put her back in the passenger seat, her feet tucked into the footwell, he drew the blanket over her shoulders, tugging it around her. She winced when she brought up her hand, he figured it would take time for her shoulders to recover from their stress position, but she snuggled deeper into the blanket as he closed the door and nibbled on the mealworm biscuit he'd put in her hand.

 

He drove.

He _talked_.

He told her about where he'd been, the settlements he'd encountered, the state of the Sand Lizard territory, the family he'd sent to the Citadel – just any inconsequential thing. For somebody who never felt the urge to talk even among people who wanted to talk to him, it was like a dam had broken in him somewhere.

"Mm, gonna stop here for some sleep," he told her when it was getting properly dark. She'd been still and calm for the past hour or so, and he hoped she'd been sleeping.

The sound of his car door jolted her into motion, and he belatedly reached back in for the car keys. He didn't _think_ she would – and any way, if anybody could hotwire a car blind, it would be Furiosa – but he took them all the same.

A few minutes of checking their surroundings and he came to her side of the car. She startled as he opened the door, but it seemed to him more like surprise than the panic she'd shown before. He held her body a little stiff and wary, uncertain about what he was doing, but apparently no longer expecting the worst.

He puffed a breath against her neck, followed it with a light touch of his fingers, and went up to the hood, examining how much slack there was in the leather. Enough to get his small, sharp knife in, he thought.

"I want to cut this off," he told her, hoping this was somehow coming across. "Can you be still while I do that?"

Her hand snatched at his wrist, fast as a snake and with a hard grip. Max startled, taking an instinctive step back before he could stop himself. Forced himself to take a slow breath and let her touch him. It wasn't lost on him that this was the first time she'd voluntarily reached out to him at all.

As he relaxed his arm, her grip eased too, moving up along his forearm, exploring the texture of his sleeve, finding his shoulder pad. He leaned in so she could find the brand in his neck. Her fingertips traced the ridges of it that mirrored her own. She made a soft, breathy sound as her palm flattened and traced his jaw, fingertips finding the scar in his eyebrow.

"Max..." she breathed, so soft he wasn't sure if he imagined it.

"Yes," he said, louder than felt comfortable in this moment, hoping she could hear. "Furiosa, let me help you."

She tipped her head forward like it was too heavy to hold up, and he leant in, brought his forehead against her hooded one. He hadn't realised how it weighed on him that she was expecting pain from him until her body relaxed into his touch.

After a few minutes he got up from his crouch, wincing at the protest of his knee. He drew her out of the car and to her feet, ducking his shoulder under her arm to support her, and sat her down on the hood of the car. She held her knees together and turned sideways a little, so he was standing outside her legs, and he hummed an apology.

He cupped a broad hand around her hooded head and gently brought her where he needed her, head bent forward. She went with a shiver, but he no longer sensed the spring-coiled tension in her body, and hoped he'd judged things right.

The leather was thick and dry, and it took some force to get the knife in, her forehead braced against his shoulder. Once it was in he slowly, carefully sliced up the back of her head, then made a cross slice in the leather at her crown. Her hair was longer than he remembered, though not too much – a few weeks, maybe a month of growth.

He talked all the while, low and gentle, about nothing at all. The words were just there, so he spoke them, somehow desperate to make the contact.

He carefully sliced the leather away from the back of the collar, not wanting to go toward her throat, but when he'd made enough space in the back and atop her head, the whole thing folded forward and off her face.

He was glad she couldn't see his expression when he saw her face. Her eyes were gummed shut with a mix of tears and dust, her skin chafed raw from the hood. There had been thick padding over her ears and something had also been stuffed in there. He hesitated before deciding she was better off pulling it herself.

Now it was away from her face he cut the front of the hood away from the metal collar with quick, sharp motions, and got a cleanish rag and his canteen. He put the soaked rag into her hand and she pressed it against her eyes, shivering.

He sat next to her on the hood of the car, offering his presence.

"Can you hear me now?"

She made a soft, affirmative noise.

"Still something in your ears."

She took over the rag with her nub and felt around her ear. Her throat clicked when she gagged, dry and disgusted, as she pulled out wadded up fiber.

"Here," he offered her the canteen, and she flinched away from him. He dropped his voice to a murmur. "Sorry."

"Loud," she mouthed when she'd drank some water. He nodded, understanding that after weeks of sensory deprivation, hearing would take getting used to.

"Let me," he breathed, lightly touching her nub. She let him take the rag, and she leaned her head against his shoulder as he wiped gently, soaked it again, slowly, carefully cleaned her eyes.

"Max," she murmured, not a question, more an affirmation, and he heard all the things it implied. That it was him, that she was safe.

"Mm," he agreed, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what it is with me and whump lately!


End file.
